War!
by chudleycannonsnumber1
Summary: All's fair in love and war, and Ron reckons that's because they're the same thing. It's his sixth year at Hogwarts and he's got himself in quite a skirmish indeed. His soured friendship with Hermione has become a battle of wits, and that's hardly a fair fight. Seeking advice, Ron challenges his hero Albus Dumbledore to a game of chess.
1. At War

What a year. It's 1997, my sixth year at Hogwarts, and I've actually learned something this time around. Over the past few days I've learned about war and the battles we wage in daily life, about victory and why I never seem to achieve it._  
_

There are two main fronts: for one, You-Know-Who is back. For an entire year he went unnoticed by our ever-vigilant Ministry of Morons. Even after it appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, there was no rallying, no call to arms, no one springing to action. No one but a small resistance group, and we're fighting blind. I'll be joining the resistance shortly.

That's _if_ I last that long. This brings me to the second war I waged. You see, while You-Know-Who was recruiting followers, undermining government officials, and assassinating key individuals, the entire female sex went unnoticed when they launched a clandestine assault on my sanity.

Long fucking story. Like many wars and issues of intrigue and diplomacy, it's complicated to the point of being complete bollocks, and I couldn't be expected to handle two wars at once. Chase two rabbits and you will lose them both, as they say. It's even harder chasing birds.

I suppose I should have been worrying about the literal war that threatened everything I know and love. That would have made sense. I thought I had that all figured out, anyway. I planned to hone my dueling skills, join up alongside my brothers and Harry, and follow orders. I wouldn't overthink it, unlike someone I know.

It all comes down to the stone cold fact that I'm a warrior. That's been my ambition since childhood—to be a knight, and to cleave a rend through the Dark forces. One flash to cut evil. At least, that's what I convinced myself before taking on that giant chess piece in the dungeons under the school. I never questioned myself for things like that, so I make a good knight, I reckon. It only ever gets messy when people count on me. That's why I don't appreciate Hermione nagging people all the time, namely Harry. Harry's got enough pressure on his shoulders being the Chosen One. If Ole Boulder-Shoulders doesn't want to take time away from being our bloody messiah to do homework then so be it.

Where was I? Oh, yes, self-sacrifice. It happens. Fight to the death and you will live, but go to war hoping to live and surely you shall die. As you can tell, I've done some reading. Willingly.

What counts is fighting You-Know-Who. Hermione still hasn't sorted out her priorities, that much is plainly obvious. We're in desperate need of schoolhouse unity. We'd all die if our cannons were aimed at each other, you know?

There I go again. I dabble in philosophy, but only as it pertains to cool things like firing cannons. Actually, I think the Cannons deserve to be fired, and they might do a bit better if they _started_ aiming at each other instead of tossing the Quaffle into hordes of enemy brooms—which is surprising to me, considering their fancy for staring at each other's bums.

About Lavender Brown—no, I'd rather take a Fire Crab to my hangers than discuss the mess I got myself into. Suffice it to say I was in dire straits, and that it was nearly the end of me, and that I was fucked. We don't need to be a society of record-keepers anyway, and there's no reason why I should have to detail the reasons behind everything I've done. Hermione knows what's been done, and she's smart so if she contemplated it for a while she'd probably figure out why it was done. I just hope she doesn't know _all_ that's been done.

It's because she went and did Merlin-knows-what with somebody I considered to be a complete git. How's that for diplomacy? She was fraternizing with the enemy. Look, I'm not really a knight, I'm just a quintessentially British bloke who occasionally partakes in revenge. Who did I get revenge on, anyway? That's what I want to know. By the end of it I'll have hurt everyone involved, and none of them did anything wrong except Hermione. Oh, she did all sorts of _wrong_. Of that, I am certain.

But Lavender... well, I'm trying to feel sorry for her but she's never made it easy. My girlfriend is an idiot. Sure, she laughs at all my jokes and plays along and acts interested when I talk about Quidditch but somewhere down the line I realized she's just easily amused. She'd laugh seeing pudding crawl. And the cutesy rubbish I'm forced to put up with! Calling me _Won-Won_ in public was bad enough, but that gift she got me was over the line. Please note: never buy a man jewelry._  
_

Then again, I'm not a man quite yet. Not legally, not emotionally. Harry is a man. He was fighting evil while I was playing little love games. I guess there was _wrong_ coming from all sides, but Hermione started it. Yes, that's the basis for my entire stance on this issue: she started it. She's the villain.

Looking back on it, I never was too worried about this. People tend to fear the unknown, and this whole thing reminded me of a bushy-haired little girl who once ignored me over a dispute involving a cat and a rat. I was well aware it would blow up in my face. It was a Seamus cocktail waiting to go off. My main concern for a long time now has been damage control.

My campaign to fix things began in the Gryffindor common room. I was searching every nook and cranny for the fold-out chessboard on loan from the library. Gryffindor's chess set was missing. I had my pieces ready to go, and I was planning to march on the Headmaster's office and challenge him to total war. I was confident in my abilities, but I couldn't imagine what a genius like Dumbledore would have in store for me. Probably a boot to the arse and a promise that if I ever wasted his time again he'd have me in one of Filch's thumbscrew contraptions. Supposedly Filch's torture tools have been removed from school grounds, but rumors persist about what he gets off to in his spare time.

The chess challenge was merely a diversion, even though it's something I'd always wanted to do. I planned to strike up a conversation about my plight while I was there. Dumbledore could help. I had questions, and he always had the right answers. It's not like he hadn't personally given me an award for services to the school, so I knew I'd be allowed to bother him. He was giving Harry private lessons. I'd risk sore thumbs for that.

Yes, I did have several older brothers to talk to about this, but owl post had been sluggish with the war on and it took quite a while to correspond with them. Fred and George were particularly infuriating. They seemed to have some mysterious wealth of knowledge of anything to do with girls, but whenever I asked their advice they'd try to rope me into an exchange whereby I lie to Magical Law Enforcement about their whereabouts on certain dates.

I found the chessboard after checking the sofa a fifth time, but then I remembered that it was a piece of rubbish. I hoped Dumbledore might have a real marble board in his office. In fact, he might have been the one that took ours.

Every time Hermione looked my way it solidified my belief that I was going to boil in hell. Somehow I had caught her while she wasn't reading. This was akin to running into a tiger 'round lunchtime. She was able to concentrate all her energy on that death glare, which normally I'd find adorable but now I associate with the stings of a million sharp beaks cutting my skin.

I held up the chessboard and grinned to her, but I'm not sure why. She was mystified and so was I—what was I doing? 'Tee-hee, remember this, Hermione? It's chess. I've played this a lot.'

You can see the sort of state I was in. Sometimes I feel like the Weasley gene pool is more of a buffet table and I was last in line. Bill's the cool one, Charlie's the tough one, Percy's the pratty one, Fred and George are prats too, and I'm a prat. I sense a pattern.

Ginny had been unbearable all year as well. Yes, she's definitely played a role in my suffering. I guess she never forgot about all those times I pushed her into the pond next to the house with the old rusty Muggle 'washer machine' in it.

I checked one last time to make sure I had everything I needed, then exited through the portrait hole and up the stairs. I'd not gone two flights before encountering a pair of Slytherins. Whenever I see the green trim on those robes I know they're up to no good, so I sent them straight to their common room without a second thought. In the very next corridor I found a few younger students, and some of them had biscuits which then became my biscuits. It truly is my duty and a privilege to be a school prefect.

I didn't come round Dumbledore's office very often, and I nearly got lost, but I spotted the stone gargoyle that guarded the door and there I was. I took one look around and the coast was clear, so there was nothing stopping me from proceeding except the lump in my throat. I tried to calm down; I was only stopping by uninvited. He wouldn't mind too much, and I soon realized I've got a reputation for being grossly inconsiderate and rightly so.

"Acid pops," I said to the gargoyle, and the spiral staircase began to rotate.

When I reached the top of the stairs I realized that it was all a horrible idea._ There's a war on!_ _War!_ It was no time to bother our leader and most valuable mind with problems involving teenage girls. What was I thinking?

I waited for the stairs to stop moving and made a hasty exit.

The next day, after classes had finished, Harry asked me where I had run off to the previous night.

"Nothing important," I said. He gave me an infuriating little smirk that told me he thought I was with Lavender, and I didn't set him straight.

I'd been considering a second attempt at challenging Dumbledore all day, but that didn't mean I wanted Harry knowing about it. There were people I could talk to about my love life, and I knew that, but many of them were hacked off at me and others would just tell me to face the music. It was definitely more complicated than anyone realized. I was trying to keep a friend, and Hermione wouldn't even let me open the lines of communication.

"Harry?" I said. "Have you seen Gryffindor's chess set?"

"No, in fact I'm starting to think somebody's nicked it," he responded. "You can't play anyway. Quidditch practice, remember?"

"Yes, _captain_."

As funny as it sounds, there's just something about flying that brings you down to earth. I emerged from our rigorous Quidditch exercise a happy man, despite my defense of the goalposts being so curiously poor that my teammates took to calling me the Ron-Sequitur.

No, that wouldn't get to me, because my defense of my chess tiles was what would win the day. When the clock struck nine(ish), I would throw the gauntlet.

Nothing would stop me, except perhaps Lavender ambushing me on my way back from the Quidditch pitch. She immediately started a rant about some thing or another and I just kept walking and nodding. Harry and the team were so kind as to speed up, leaving me behind with Lav. Harry can sod off next time he lectures me about being a team player.

"But she's _still_ using that old bag, even though she knows where it's been! Can you believe that?"

"Yes," I said. If only she knew where half of my things had been, courtesy of Fred and George, she probably wouldn't have been holding my arm with a vice-like grip.

She wouldn't keep me held up for long though. I broke a sweat on the field and she could smell it. Sure enough, she relented quickly and inched away from me.

"Meet me in the common room," she said. I simply nodded some more.

I'm more considerate than I let on. I know I was being a total git treating Lavender like that, but I was starting to do it hoping she'd ditch me. Yes, I'll definitely be boiling in hell.

I crossed the covered bridge alone on my way back to the castle with the sun setting beside me, both over the horizon and reflected in the Black Lake below. It was the kind of natural wonder that made for perfect soul-searching conditions. At my absolute peak of thoughtfulness, I observed that one of my shoes was untied.

I accepted that no miracle solution was going to fall into my lap. I couldn't just create a quick fix for this. No, it was going to have to come from Dumbledore. He'd have a quick fix, so I'd ask him over the chess table soon. For the time being I was content to watch the sunset. As beautiful as a clear sky can be, I've come to appreciate life through a filter of fog. Under the right conditions, it can make things glow.

The breeze on the bridge was getting cold, so I started to leave, but something made me freeze entirely. It was Hermione, waiting at the end of the bridge! Fancy that! I started walking towards her, entertaining the possibility that I took a Bludger to the skull out on that Quidditch pitch and that it was all a hallucination. I knew I'd never leave my shoe untied! If it was a lucid dream, I was going to make the best of it.

But it wasn't. I knew by the look on her face that she wasn't Dream Hermione. She was regular, pissed-off Hermione.

"What _are_ you doing out here?" she said. Her voice was shrill but as it's the first thing she had said to me in days I couldn't help but smile.

Never smile or laugh when a woman is trying to be serious, even if the situation is laughable. For months, Hermione and I had been engaged in the social equivalent of trench warfare and her latest tactic was to question my decision to look at sunsets on my way back from Quidditch. Shit, I broke into a full-on chuckle.

She turned around and started stomping away. I cleared my throat and asked, "What d'you mean what am I doing out here?"

"_Everyone,_" she said, spinning back around, "is on high alert, taking every precaution against Death Eater attacks, and here you are wandering around alone outside castle walls! It's dangerous!"

_That's_ _all?_ Obviously I wasn't going to be attacked! Some priority target I am. Typical Hermione.

"You were worried?" I asked. _Yeah, that'll shut her up._

"Yes!" she shouted.

...

After a moment, I realized my jaw was hanging so I pretended to cough and regained my composure. I wasn't expecting her to admit it. It was an interesting tactic but I'd do her one better.

"Yeah, don't be... worried. About me. Whatever, go away."

I fucked that up. She groaned in stress and there she went, marching back up to the castle. I followed her, kicking myself the whole way.

When I got back to the common room I found Lavender literally keeping watch at the portrait hole for me. I entered seconds after Hermione and Lav noticed that. As she approached me with narrowed eyes I found myself actually hoping she'd say something about it, bring it all out in the open, but she didn't. Instead, she started talking about something else while I made my way to the boys dormitory.

"Gobstones club is meeting in the Great Hall, d'you want to go down there and watch them?" she asked. I shrugged. "There'll be food," she added seductively.

I was faced with a choice between the mortifying prospect of meeting with Dumbledore or feasting and watching the Gobstones club host their monthly gauntlet, which admittedly I had a few sickles riding on.

I decided to visit the headmaster the next day.

I awoke the next day thinking it was a new day. No better or worse than the previous day, just new. A blank slate. I thought, "I'm in control of my own destiny, and I _will_ face this stupid dilemma... soon. Maybe."

There I was, lying in bed, just me and my iron will. I sat up and pulled my four-poster bed's curtain aside and—bloody hell, it was bright. I got up and stretched until my shoulders cracked, then followed the sunlight to the window. Turned out there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I couldn't spend such a fine day playing chess indoors, could I?

I had slept in. From Gryffindor tower I saw some people walking across the field used for Flying class and towards the Quidditch pitch. I recognized Neville as far away as the Owlery because he tripped up no less than three times going up the stairs. As I surveyed the bustling school which apparently forgets the threat of Dark wizards the moment the sun is shining, I felt my resolve strengthen. I went to go get my chess pieces.

On my way down the stairs, with a roar of my belly, my plans changed. I couldn't wage war on an empty stomach; to the kitchens I went. On my way to the kitchens, which are mercilessly placed in the basement with probably the farthest distance away from Gryffindor tower possible, I considered checking a book out from the library. This book would be read, by me, for both knowledge and reading pleasure. I'd like to establish that I do that from time to time. It's not unheard of.

Thoughts of books soon left my head as my stomach whined again. I knew enough about gamesmanship anyway. I understand the Chinese have built some sort of Sun Zoo that's meant to teach you about fighting strategies but in my view that borders on animal cruelty.

I started tickling the pear. I know what you're thinking, ruddy pervert, but to get to the kitchens you've got to literally tickle a painted pear on the wall. I wasn't in the kitchens two seconds before the House Elves served me food. I reckon history has trained their wee pointy ears to recognize the exact sound of my footsteps.

Mmm, a traditional English breakfast, with breakfast on the side. I was already fueling like a champion. "This is it," I thought. I had my pieces—my soldiers, and it was time for war. I was going to strike fast and conquer everything I see, like that Alexander guy the Muggles think is so great. Up the stairs, through the Transfiguration courtyard, I arrived at the gargoyle that guards the Headmaster's office.

"Acid pops," I said, and the guardian sprung aside.

When I climbed the revolving staircase and arrived at the door, I realized again that it was actually a stupid lark. How could I ask my bloody hero for help with such a silly problem? Granted, I've always wanted to have a match with him, but at such a stressful time... I mean, women do play mind games, and the odds are always in their favor because they're all insane. It's a natural advantage. I headed back down the stairs, towards the gargoyle...

"Who goes there?" someone called behind me.

I hesitated for one bloody second and Dumbledore had already left his office and gone down the stairs. The man is old as the earth but swift as the wind.

"Back again, Mr. Weasley?" he said. Of course he knew I was there the other night.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"A birdy told me," he said with his hand on the gargoyle beside the entrance. Well, I suppose that was obvious. "Do you need something?"

"A miracle," I said. Too dramatic. "Er—just joking, I need—I mean, I want—er, I was wondering if you'd fancy a chess match?"

He stared at me without moving a muscle, as though my words took a few moments to register. Then he said, "Run out of worthy opponents?"

Yeah, in first year.

"I know it's unusual, I just—well, I don't even know if you play. Sorry, I'll just be going."

I said this but I didn't go, because wasn't sure he heard me. He was lost in thought.

"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps... but is it ethical?"

He sounded extremely interested in whatever he was going on about. I was too. He's terribly mysterious.

"Ethical?" I asked. "Would you beat me that badly?"

Then his face lit up, only for a moment but I spotted it. "I have an idea, but I've got errands to run at the moment. Meet me in an hour and a half in my office. This time, I ask that you remember to enter. Excuse me," he said with a smile, and he walked past me.

I wasn't sure what to think. Probably because I wasn't sure what had just happened.


	2. Peace Talks

There it was, then. I had a score to settle with the headmaster in an hour and a half. At least, I thought so. I wasn't sure if he had accepted my challenge. He certainly didn't seem upset that I'd asked, only surprised and perhaps a bit amused. It was no laughing matter, however, and I intended to make him see that.

Until then, I had some time to kill. I was still a bit sore from the rigors of Quidditch training; Harry picked up more than a few methods from our old ruthless captain Angelina Johnson, whom we'd nicknamed Angry Angie. I could use some rest and relaxation. It was the type of day where all the students stay outside, mainly in the paved courtyard or cooling off under the trees by the lake or chatting by the stone circle.

Perhaps I would stop by the library after all. Might as well pick up a few strategies as I rest up and prepare for battle. I immediately decided against it and started heading for the stone circle where I knew people would be playing Gobstones and flinging cards at one another. Truth be told, I'd only read one book this year that I didn't have to. It was about a Muggle in ancient times named Hannibal and it took me weeks to finish, and I didn't plan on reading so much as an introduction in the future but still I fancied myself as an intellectual ever since.

I walked through the clocktower while keeping an eye on the walls; the tower had a spider infestation that rivaled the one in Pansy Parkinson's hair. All clear, thank Godric, and I passed through the clocktower's courtyard, which has always reminded me of a rusty mossed-over fountain or pool because of the overgrowth that's never been cleared up in all my years here.

It was quite crowded, and I had to shove my way through the covered bridge. I got a lot of dirty looks, but I simply reminded them that I'm a school prefect. I kindly ignored their responses.

I arrived at the stone circle and saw students sitting on the rock formations and running around in the valley below. Ernie Macmillan was down there shooing a bunch of first-years away from the Whomping Willow. I realized quickly that goofing off wasn't what it used to be. I'd burned so many bridges as of late that I doubted I'd be welcome to spend time with any of this lot.

The Slytherins were out, a'course, and the geeks in Ravenclaw had questioned my intelligence for years. The Hufflepuffs, longtime allies of Gryffindors, would have been fine company had I not shouted "Hufflepuff wankers!" at them after our last Quidditch victory for no adequate reason other than—er, _team spirit_. Yeah, that's it. At least 3/4ths of the school didn't want anything to do with me.

Not that I ever did spend much time with anyone other than Harry and Hermione. It was really no big loss if every time I ran into Dean he backed away as though I would attack him, and whenever I made eye contact with Seamus he merely shook his head, and every time I talked to Neville I caught him giving Hermione apologetic looks over my shoulder. Didn't bother me one bit.

I found a nice spot in the shadow of a primitive stone arch and sat down against it. I used to fear these big narrow rocks might tip over but after seeing Hagrid bump into them so much I'd been convinced of their safety. When I looked back at the castle I saw it was bustling in every area, from the towers all the way down to the boathouse where Professor Sprout was gardening. I felt myself beginning to nod off so I sat up straight and crossed my arms.

"Meditating, are we?" Harry's voice rang in my ears.

"Why not?" I yawned. I looked up to see Harry not in Quidditch gear but carrying his school supplies. "What're you doing?" I asked with contempt.

"Hermione's naffed off at people making noise in the library and she's suggested we study at Hagrid's cabin."

"Who makes more noise than Hagrid?" I asked, shaking my head. "Where is she?"

"She's didn't want to stop and say hello, quite understandably."

"I thought you weren't taking sides," I said as I looked at Hagrid's hut and saw Hermione at the bottom of the hill; she turned away as soon as I caught her eye.

"I stopped, didn't I? I just want my friends back."

"You've got us if you need us, don't be stupid." I looked away to the Black lake and heard Harry sigh.

"Bye, then," he said, and he walked away.

Truthfully, I did think he was taking sides in all this—I thought he was taking _my_ side! Ginny must have got to him. My baby sister, the hypocrite who had been bad-mouthing me because of the mess _she_ started. I was running out of allies._  
_

Suddenly I considered that perhaps that's part of Hermione's genius. She was cleverly cutting off all my favorite pastimes. By going to Hagrid's—with the ridiculous excuse of seeking silence—she had drawn the battle lines right outside Hagrid's front door. She knew I wouldn't go in there while she's in there hating my guts. I assumed she'd be 'studying' in the kitchens next. It's a wonder anyone considers _her_ to be the victim in all this!

The clocktower chimed at the turn of the hour. I didn't know how much time had passed, but I had a good view of the front gate of the school and could see all arrivals, so I'd just wait for Dumbledore to turn up.

I felt a thud beside me—_Agh!_ I turned and saw a big pair of eyes much too close to my face. Why'd it have to be Luna Lovegood?

"Good day, isn't it?" she said, with absolutely no emotion nor emphasis.

"Yeah," I responded, looking away. In my defense, she's bug-eyed and it is believed that she can peer into one's soul.

"I think it is. Sunny days are my favorite."

"Probably shouldn't waste one talking to me then."

"I don't think it's a waste," she said. "If I don't, who will?"

I let my head fall back against the stone slab I was leaning against. Even Loony Lovegood thought I was a loser.

"Lavender will," I said spitefully.

"You don't seem very happy about that," she pointed out. "I can see why," she added.

"What's that mean?" I demanded.

"I don't think you're fit for each other. You're like oil and water."

"Well I don't see you with anybody!"

When I looked at her, I saw narrowed eyes. She abruptly stood up and walked away. Some nerve on that girl! Though, she did have a point about Lavender and I. We don't mix. All we have is snogging. I'd trade it for my old friendships in a heartbeat. Harry and I are like oil and oil. Hermione and I? Oil and bread—we're delicious.

Feeling more relaxed, and a bit hungry, I decided to head back to the castle. There could be chess matches going on in the library, which from what I hear is more lively these days. I could slaughter a few opponents as practice for my upcoming challenge. I was starting to feel better, and not because I took out my frustrations on an innocent—albeit insane—girl who only wanted to help.

I hurried back to the castle. In my haste I wasn't able to stop in time when somebody backed into me without looking and tripped us both over. When I sat up, I saw an angry Eloise Midgen being helped up by her friends.

"Watch where you're going!" she snapped.

I stood up, ready to shout back at her, but I stopped myself. Her acne had cleared up about as much as it was going to, and she really was just another nice girl I'd wronged in the past.

"Sorry," I said, and it actually felt good. She was speechless.

She went back to the magical game she was playing with her friends, which was a violation of school rules, and I left her to it. Once I crossed the covered bridge and passed through the clocktower courtyard I had exited the main Saturday hotspot and there were fewer people around. Times like these are when I become even more vigilant, on the lookout for Slytherin troublemakers.

No sign of trouble in the paved courtyard. In fact, things were starting to improve. I helped some lost first years find their way back to the great hall, and ran into Dean and he had actually built up the nerve to acknowledge me, and then somebody was nice enough to hold the door of a secret passage open for me. Cho Chang, of all people.

"Domo arigatou," I said, and she scowled. I guess she didn't know it was me she was helping. Quidditch rivalries die hard, after all.

I exited the passage just outside of Charms class and the dungeons, and of course the library which I once again passed up. If it's Dumbledore I'm up against, practicing against anything short of the cream of the crop might actually make me worse. The time had come. I followed a secret passage leading to the grand staircase. It was one of the older passages that I came to dread because they're too short and I was made to walk like a gorilla to get through. When I got to the other side and jogged up the shifting staircases, I heard a familiar high-pitched voice.

"_Ron!_" Lavender called. Ugh, she _would_ be behind me. She _would_ hold me up at this crucial time.

"I can't talk now," I said, turning around. She was a few floors below me, shouting for the entire hall to hear; I saw disgusted reactions on the painted faces of many of the portraits that surrounded the staircase.

"Why not!"

"The headmaster wants to see me!" I shouted to match her.

She just smiled, shook her head, and turned away. Recently, whenever I got in trouble she'd always laugh it off and call me _her wittle weasel. _I can't believe I actually used to prefer that to Hermione's scolding. Embarrassing nicknames notwithstanding, Lavender had been treating me much too well. I reckoned she knew I'd grown tired of the whole thing.

Oh well, it would all be resolved soon. I was off to meet Dumbledore, and after that I'd take swift action. It's this old routine again: "Acid Pops," pass the gargoyle, up the spiral stairs, and this time I made sure to knock on the door.

No response.

I turned to leave and saw someone scuttling up the stairs. It was Dumbledore, his fine robes flowing in his surprisingly nimble stride. He was towing something behind him; I craned my head to look over his shoulder and saw a large chest floating through the air, following him.

"Have I kept you waiting?" he asked as he reached the top of the stairs. "Come in, come in," he said before I could reply, pushing the door open.

Dumbledore's office is an intimidating place. A hundred pairs of eyes stare down at you from portraits of previous headmasters as soon as you enter, and Dumbledore's many spindly instruments are constantly whirring about with unknown functions. Dumbledore himself glided through the room and magicked the big wooden chest over to his desk.

"Supplies from our invaluable allies on the Emerald Isle," Dumbledore explained as he opened the chest. "One particular item may be of use to us. I just hope it's intact. Oh, you may take a seat," he said, and I did.

I was taken aback. He seemed to be speaking to me not as my professor, but as a fellow member of the resistance, talking about his allies and counting me among them. I supposed my role in Dumbledore's army had not gone unnoticed.

He began spooling through the chest, removing many different magical trinkets, supplies, and documents. I couldn't believe I was at the headquarters of the war effort to bother our leader about something so trivial. I was in the war room; every minute spent, every action taken in this room is done with the utmost efficiency, with no time wasted. I looked up at the portraits on the wall and the ones that weren't asleep were all scowling worse than a group of Slythereins. Surely Dumbledore talks about You-Know-Who with these painted folk and they're disturbed by my disruptive presence.

"Alas!" said Dumbledore, his face lighting up. "Ron, I do eagerly accept your challenge, but only on certain conditions, and I hope you'll indulge me."

I nodded, breathing shallow breaths and wiping beads of sweat off of my forehead frequently. I was in the very room where the greatest minds and men planned out how to make war on the forces of evil. They considered every possible avenue of attack, every gap in the safety of the witches and wizards they were determined to protect. Every single second spent in this room was in keeping with the struggle against the the horned, shadowy clutches of evil.

"Let's play Castle Quest!" said Dumbledore, withdrawing a big colorful box and placing it on his desk.

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"Castle Quest," repeated Dumbledore as he pushed all his gadgets, writing, and quill and ink aside to make room for the big box, "is an immersive adventure into an age of castles and kings."

I looked at the box and saw a bright illustration of a medieval scene with castles, hills, and armored knights on white horses. I wondered if this box had some sort of time travel charm placed on it.

"It's a non-magical game that thousands of Muggles enjoy every day," he continued. "So naturally it follows that every wizard to whom I present this Muggle game has a caustic remark in store for me. So far I've found it more challenging finding opponents than actually playing the game. Care to play?"

"All right..."

Dumbledore opened the box and took out a game board and several different cards, plastic pieces, and instruction booklets. I began to worry that I'd spend too much time learning the game to strike up a separate conversation. Chess was a perfect choice because winning at chess was casual for me and I could concentrate on other things while I did so.

"I must confess, it's been years since I last played, and my memory is spotty. Ah, here," said Dumbledore as he took one of the rule books and began flipping through it. "Now, Ron, I once attempted to play this game with my friend, Elphias, and after much laboring, once we had assembled all the pieces and gone over the rules of the game, Elphias expressed to me that he no longer had any desire to play. I trust that will not be the case today?"

He tilted his head down and peered over his spectacles, looking me straight in the eye. He was dead serious.

"No, I'll play," I said.

I picked up a rulebook of my own and started studying more thoroughly than I had all year. Despite all the cartoony drawings, the game was a bit complex. There were two equal kingdoms on either side of the game board, which featured plains, mountain ranges, forests, and lakes, all of which affected how your warriors could move and fight. There were neutral outlying villages and a trade system for resources, and mines and mills and farms for keeping your citizens fed and your army strong. There was also a morale system in which you incur penalties for poor living conditions.

I skimmed through the rules and victory conditions, skipped the 'peaceful victory' section, and began examining the game pieces. The pieces had varying strengths that countered each other. A man-at-arms beats an archer, an archer beats a swordsman, a swordsman beats a man-at-arms, etcetera. When I finished and looked back at Dumbledore he was still reading the rules.

"Which kingdom would you like to command?" he asked without looking away from his booklet.

The kingdoms were only different in looks: one had a Roman theme and the other was more Celtic. As the only book I'd read for recreation this year was _We're On To Conquer Rome_, I sided with the Celts.

Setting up the entire board took a long time, especially as some pieces were missing and had to be replaced by miscellaneous objects on Dumbledore's desk. I smirked upon seeing his throne room; his kingdom was being run by a green Every Flavor bean.

"We start by rolling a pair of dice, the highest roll granting the choice of who goes first."

He lowered his rulebook with enthusiasm and grabbed the pair of six-sided dice, then rolled a 10. I rolled a full 12 afterwards, then started to take my turn.

"I take it you're electing to take the first turn?" he said.

Shit, I'd forgotten that winning the dice gave you the _choice_ of who takes the first turn, and it may have been better to let him take a turn first to see how it's done. I tried to play it off.

"Oh, yeah, I definitely will do," I said after clearing my throat.

I asked myself what my goals were in this game. Well, that's easy, I was aiming to ask Dumbledore's advice about how to get Hermione and everyone else to like me again since every step I took, even the ones that felt right, had resulted in my being called a twat by someone new.

As far as winning the match went, naturally I assumed I'd win by destroying Dumbledore's forces and storming his castle. Dumbledore's castle, however, was on the other end of the board and troops could only move so far in a single turn. I also realized that while I sent my troops across the board, he could create additional warriors and outnumber my army. I'd have to start with a bigger army than his, but a kingdom's army is supported by its economy, and to create a larger army I'd have to increase my landholdings and profit, but doing so may cause lowered morale.

"We aren't enforcing time limits per turn, are we?" I asked hopefully. Dumbledore smiled and shook his head.

I decided not to start the great warpath on my first turn. Instead, I garrisoned my warriors as guards to protect my mines and mills, and used my starting credits to hire a man-at-arms. Dumbledore seemed unsurprised at my decisions and rarely took his eyes off of his rulebook. I signaled the end of my turn by lowering the little blue flag on my castle, and Dumbledore raised his.

Dumbledore's turn perplexed me. He stationed guards at his farms and mills and left his mines undefended, used his initial gold reserves to construct a statue in his town square for added morale, and sent a diplomat as an envoy to a nearby village. I was left scratching my head at this. His entire turn seemed to be a comedy of errors. One of his mines was close enough that I might be able to get a warrior there before he could defend it. Did he not fear my shiny new armsman?

It was my turn again and I was still trying to wrap my head around this new game. I leaned back in my seat and looked up, and saw that the portraits on the walls were watching intently, not even feigning sleep. I reckon they were eager to see Dumbledore beaten. I'd be happy to oblige.

He did shine a light on something I'd forgotten me first turn: the independent villages, which were capable of bartering for food, gold, and supplies using a diplomat and each one had a single warrior for defense. These villages were peons compared to the kingdoms of the players and not one of them could stand up to my military might, and each village stood atop a valuable resource. It was decided then and there that the nearby village of Hillspire would have to be conquered for the benefit of the Ronnish people.

"I'll move my swordsman to attack Hillspire," I said, while closely watching Dumbledore's reaction, which was unreadable.

Combat used the dice too, highest roll wins the fight, but certain advantages were given to the totals. Hillspire, as you may have guessed, is located on a hill, which gives a defensive bonus of 1 to the man-at-arms stationed there, however my swordsman is a natural counter to the armsman so he gets 3 added to his total. I won the day, and the riches of Hillspire were added to my growing economy at the cost of morale.

My conquest of Hillspire was to be the most eventful turn for a while. There was a period of gathering before the storm, where we built our forces. Strike that—where _I_ built _my_ forces and my townsfolk heard tell of glorious monuments and shrines in Dumbledore's faraway lands. Before long, Dumbledore had gained diplomatic ties with all his neighbors for trade. I tried doing the same, but Dumbledore gleefully pointed out a 'warlord' penalty for conquering villages that means other villages will refuse to trade with you for several turns. Should my military annex too many villages, the others will begin to band together against me.

All right, so my kingdom wasn't the most comfortable place to live, but, on the other hand, my growing army was a force to be reckoned with. One thousand swords raised in loyalty to King Ron—except for the ones I'd lost because I was running a deficit on morale. Milk-drinking sissies.

"It's been five turns, Ron, your trade penalty has run its course," said Dumbledore.

"_Fan-bloody-tastic,_" I mumbled, then promptly cleared my throat. "Er—sorry, Professor. It's just—what do these villages care if I attacked Hillspire, as long as I've brought them gold? Why the penalty?"

"Words and material items are nice; more important, however, is the knowledge that you are on the same side." Dumbledore replied, gazing down at me seriously through his half-moon spectacles.

"But why would they side with someone like that when the kingdom right next to them has a much bigger army that could defend them?"

"Peace cannot be defended against."

My knee-jerk reaction was to scoff, but I stopped myself. I stopped myself because it's Dumbledore, and he's not often wrong.

"So, if I'm overly nice to people they'll not be able to resist me, then?" I asked in a challenging tone.

"Well, coming from the man who attacked Hillspire as early as his second turn, such behavior might be seen as insincere—wrongfully, I'm sure," Dumbledore replied with a smile.

"But that was for the greater good," I protested.

"The greater good," he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh well, they've forgotten about it now anyway. The past is over, innit?"

"I think so, yes."

There was a knock at the door, and Dumbledore placed his rulebook on the table and said "Come in." I found myself tapping my foot and running a hand through my hair, realizing Dumbledore and I must have looked a ridiculous sight with our Muggle game. In walked Professor McGonagall, of all people. She approached Dumbledore's desk to hand him a rolled-up scroll tied by a shiny red Ministry seal, and froze in her tracks when she saw what we were doing. You'd think she'd have caught us setting fire to the school by the look she gave us.

"Care to join us?" Dumbledore asked in a tone of delight that made McGonagall's nostrils flare. Blimey, I thought _I_ was good at pissing people off...

"No, of course not," she replied. "And I strongly advise you to cease whatever it is you're doing and read this. Minister Scrimgeour has passed an edict granting the Ministry the right to alter the Underage Sorcery Detection magic as it sees fit, effective immediately. I do not wish to discuss it in the presence of a student, but I trust I needn't tell you the implications that such control may have."

Dumbledore unraveled the scroll and began reading.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall. "The assignment I gave you for the weekend did not account for you having much free time."

_No kidding._

"I believe that Mr. Weasley can accomplish all the work in the world—just so long as it's not the work he's been assigned," Dumbledore interjected. "It seems you are correct once again, Minerva, this document is troubling. King Ronald, I'm afraid we must adjourn our game and resume play tomorrow. I shall await your return."


	3. Unconditional Surrender

It was a good thing that it was the weekend, because I couldn't concentrate on anything other than my Castle Quest match with Dumbledore as I sat down to breakfast in the Great Hall the following morning. With the ongoing war of the two kingdoms, I couldn't be bothered with such things as classes, homework, or not spilling porridge down my front.

"Sleep well?" Harry asked. The smirking git still thought I'd been sneaking off with Lavender at night.

"Why d'you ask?"

"I don't know. Hermione's been wondering how you sleep at night, actually."

"Leave it," I snapped.

Harry dropped the subject and went back to his newspaper. That's a good bloke. I sighed and drooped forward onto the table in front of me. I wondered how long I should wait before trying to resume play with Dumbledore. I'd still not accomplished my objective of asking him just what I should do to fix things. I was still getting nasty looks from people who weren't even involved in this whole thing, and all because of some harmless snogging with Lavender Brown. Perhaps they knew about my conquest of Hillspire.

Truth be told, when I stepped out of Dumbledore's office I was left a bit disappointed. I'd always thought of him as a genius—a bit mental, perhaps—but unquestionably the greatest wizard alive, and all we did was play some Muggle game.

"I'm just sayin' if you keep it up, you're gonna get in trouble," I heard Seamus say as he approached the long Gryffindor table. "Hey, Harry, guess what Dean's been doin' in the loo," he said, sitting down next to me but not acknowledging me.

"Where I come from, we've got urinals for convenience," said Dean before Harry could respond. "There's no good reason why men of a certain height shouldn't be allowed to piss in the sink. Right, Ron?" he added, giving me a nod.

I had no idea what he was on about, but I recognized that he was trying to be diplomatic, in a _sorry-I've-got-my-ruddy-hands-all-over-your-baby-sister_ kind of way. I took another bite of porridge in silence and left him hanging, but then I remembered what Dumbledore said, that peace can't be defended against. The tosser didn't have any defense for himself when I finally replied: "Aye."

"So people walking through the door and catching you with your knob out under the tap isn't a good reason?" said Seamus.

"Well they won't ever say Dean Thomas wasn't brave," Dean replied smoothly. He _was_ brave, dating a girl with 6 older brothers.

"And when Dean Thomas is expelled for exposing himself to first-years, they won't ever say Dean Thomas was in his right mind."

"What'll they say about you? That you missed the toilet and got piss everywhere, that's what."

"I'm sure _they _don't give a fuck!" said Harry, then he got up and stomped out of the Great Hall.

I reckoned 'they' would be writing about Harry's angsty behavior after that one. He had been quite cross with Dean lately. Oh well, it was no concern of mine, right? Getting Harry Potter to talk about his problems is a delicate process, like dispelling a dangerous curse. I'd let Hermione nag him about it. Then again, he'd been blatantly taking Hermione's side over mine as of late, making comments here and there, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to take a page out of her enormous book and see what's bugging Harry.

"Wait up, Harry!" I called following him out of the hall. "Mate, what happened between you and Dean?"

"Nothing," he said. Bullshit.

"It's just that whatever he's done to offend you, he doesn't seem to be aware of it—"

"Leave it," he said, and then he stormed off.

Fair enough. It's not as though this is rare behavior from Harry anyway. I reckon I'd be short on patience too if my forehead hurt all the time.

As I had nothing else to do for the day—other than studying, which obviously wasn't going to happen—I found myself wandering towards Dumbledore's office. Along the way, I tried my hand at Dumbledore's diplomacy. I gave one of the first-year midgets an encouraging nod, had a conversation with Luna that started with an apology and ended in a full-on hug, and when Lavender inevitably tracked me down like a bloodhound I pretended to be interested in her complaints about her friends.

However, it didn't take long for my attitude of waving to everyone and smiling like an idiot to turn things pear-shaped. I passed by a group of girls playing some frilly magical game with a piece of parchment that had been folded into a diamond shape. It was against school rules, and normally I wouldn't care, but they were playing on the stairs and they had charmed the parchment to explode whenever someone lost the game. Accident waiting to happen. Also, they were wearing those green-trimmed robes every prefect learns to look out for.

"Hey, no magic here," I said.

"Bugger off," was the general response.

"Oi!"

"Yeah, you're only telling us off because we're Slytherins," one of the girls said.

"What? Nonsense—er—complete rubbish!"

"Right, yeah? That must be why you stopped us when we were with Eloise yesterday!"

I wasn't as corrupt as they thought, but I didn't really want to explain that I'd let Eloise off because I felt bad about scoffing at her as a possible date for the Yule Ball—oh, and for coining the nickname _Eloise Minger—_and let's not forget that time I said she must have fallen out of the ugly tree and bashed her head on every branch the whole way down. I was only twelve at the time, so I was bound to say things like that!

"That's got nothing to do with this!" I shouted. "Do as I say because I said it, and piss off!"

"Oh, I think it might have something to do with this." I heard spoken behind me. I blanched when I recognized the voice.

"Professor Dumbledore!" I said, turning around. I had forgotten how close I was to the headmaster's office.

"Mr. Weasley," he replied with a nod. He then addressed the rulebreaking Slytherin girls: "It is my personal theory that House rivalries account for most of the reprimands given by prefects in school corridors."

That made the scheming girls chuckle. They were beaming from seeing me squirm. It's my personal theory that Slytherins tend to be up to no good. It's their own fault they're discriminated against.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "this game is not appropriate for the grand staircase. You know, the staffroom is rarely locked and I have it on good authority that Professor Slughorn keeps a cache of cinnamon creme treats in the cupboard there. Happy hunting!"

With looks of awe and amusement, the girls hurried off. Dumbledore was up to his usual antics, but I noticed that he seemed tired, laboring to maintain his quirky demeanor. He'd been holding his severely injured hand behind his back whenever students were present, though he didn't seem to mind me looking at it.

"Sorry, Professor," I said once the girls were gone.

"Oh, I've heard worse, especially from you," he replied, cracking a smile. "But I ask you to be a bit gentler enforcing school rules in future."

"Yes, sir."

"I trust I'm right in assuming you've come to challenge my kingdom once again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me."

Phew. I got away with one there. I think Dumbledore was simply too tired to punish me for shouting at young girls. As I followed him, I hoped he wasn't expecting a nice relaxing game, because that evening was when I was determined to go in for the kill. I'd already had it planned out in my head: I was a warmonger, pure and simple, and I'd gone too far down that route to win a peaceful victory. I made the decision then and there to settle for nothing less than unconditional surrender, for better or worse, of all territory, gold, and capital under Dumbledore's control.

"Might I ask what's got you so wound up, Ron?" Dumbledore asked as we passed the gargoyle outside of his office.

"Er, it's private," I said, then I felt like kicking myself. The whole reason I was playing this game was to ask Dumbledore's advice!

"Best to get it out now then, if you so desire. You won't find any privacy in my office; the portraits of previous headmasters don't have much to concern themselves with other than my business."

My eyes locked with his, I felt as though he was reading my mind. I knew if he wanted to, he probably could.

"Let's play," I said weakly, nodding to his office door. He nodded as well and led the way.

Once inside Dumbledore's office, I saw our game board set aside on a table, all the pieces exactly where we left them. Dumbledore flicked his wand once and the board began to levitate as he guided it to his desk. The board took up most of the desk's surface except for a small portion beside it, where Dumbledore had placed an odd-looking brass contraption.

"What's that? Some sort of Dark wizard detector?" I asked.

"Oh no," Dumbledore chuckled. "This is a coffee machine. Those young ladies in the corridor are not the only ones borrowing things from the staffroom today. Severus is always in a rage when he finds out I've taken this wonderful device—one of these days I fear he may do something drastic about it!"

"Oh, right, it's a coffee machine." I could feel my cheeks turning red.

"It is something to do with the war, though, so you're not far off," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, some of our allies operating in Dark magic hotspots in Eastern Europe are encountering violent Death Eater support. One of them bequeathed quite a large cache of Dragon Roast coffee beans to me. Would you like a cup?"

"Yeah," I said. I hate coffee.

Dumbledore pulled a few levers on the brass machine and it began billowing puffs of steam and gyrating.

"It'll take about one minute," he said. "In the meantime, I say we let the game continue."

This time I had the rules of the game memorized and I was able to focus purely on strategy. The previous day was the gathering before the storm; I had amassed an army and conquered lands while Dumbledore's cultural utopia, powered by his Dumbledorean League of allies, neared completion. Today, the fight for Dumbledore's castle would be the storm.

Wasting no time, I began the great warpath to Dumbledore's lands. My archers, catapults, trebuchets, swordsmen, armsmen, and knights began a long march that would end in either victory or death. When I mobilized my troops, Dumbledore showed no signs of worry as he poured a cup of Dragon Roast for me and one for himself.

I took a sip. _Ugh._

"Not exactly a subtle flavor, is it?" Dumbledore said after seeing my reaction. "I discovered this brand while researching the effects of dragon's blood."

"Must be an acquired taste," I said, taking another sip just to get rid of the aftertaste.

"You're very kind. I believe it's my turn now."

As I waged war on Dumbledore, during his turn he waged peace on me, continuing construction of monuments, spires, and shrines. He did make a few military commands, sending a miniscule force out to meet mine and also garrisoning units at the borders he shared with allied villages.

Hostilities began. While my army was much bigger than his, I suffered more losses due to his terrain advantages being on the defensive. He would hit me where I was weak and then run to defensive positions. Due to some unfortunately-placed forests and lakes, I was unable to surround his army with my own and was bogged down at choke points and valleys.

"Guerrilla tactics," I muttered.

"Less is more," Dumbledore replied.

"Funny, I was under the impression that more is more," I said grumpily.

"'More' is nothing more or less than 'more,' or 'less.' It depends on what you make of it, more or less."

Whatever, I wasn't going to let the grinning old genius get into my head. In fact, I was going to get into _his_ head and work out how to get out of this mess with Hermione. Er, next turn, perhaps...

Even with Dumbledore's hit-and-run crap, I'd still win a war of attrition. Even if I lost more than he did, I'd win because I started with more. That is, until I began running a morale deficit so big that my economy went down the drain and I lost perfectly good warriors. I had two choices: build a bunch of stupid statues or get more capital by force. I retreated my army and began conquering nearby villages, trade penalties be damned!

Dumbledore happily accepted the ceasefire and returned his armies to his lands. I was taking villages at a rate of 1 per turn. Frosthollow, Thalia Farm, Blackrock Mine, and Blueport all combined to form one contiguous empire under my control.

"Blueport's mine. That's food for my kingdom," I said. "I've almost got my entire side of the board. Even with your coward tactics I've still got the resources. It's just a matter of time before I find the right moment."

"I see. How ironic that you opted not to lead the kingdom with the Roman theme."

"You know what they say: Rome wasn't burnt in a day," I said slyly, and Dumbledore broke out in what seemed like his first genuine smile since term started.

Just as I looked away from his confident grin, I glanced at the board and saw a golden opportunity. I knew Dumbledore had assumed I would be taking all the villages nearest my castle, but I had left some neglected portions of my army near his borders, presuming he would pick them off as they retreated. He didn't. I decided the citizens of Dumbledore's villages wore funnier hats than mine and needed to die.

I moved a strike force to take Dustman's Cave, which was supplying Dumbledore with resources that would soon be mine. This was the first time I saw a jitter in Dumbledore's iron composure; he had been taken off-guard. He moved his army to defend and it met my small invasion force at Drust's thicket. It was a longshot, but through some miraculous dice rolls I achieved victory!

"Yes!" I said, now a bit hyperactive from the coffee. "I take Dustman's Mine with my armsman!"

"That you do," said Dumbledore, who looked to be in thought.

"That'll be more iron for my army!"

"Use it wisely."

"And what's got me wound up, you ask?" In retrospect, it was probably the coffee. "Women! Girls, I mean. Girls my age."

"Ah, I can imagine."

"You know what I mean, yeah?" I asked hopefully.

"I can imagine," he repeated.

"It's stupid, I know. I'm sorry. But it's really getting to me."

"Is it? Oh, I'll garrison this swordsman at the border of Dustman's Cave and Thornmills, for obvious reasons. So, tell me about girls."

"All right, I will. I don't need privacy either, because the entire school seems to have an opinion on it. See, I've been dating Lavender Brown ever since our first Quidditch game this year, and everyone's been calling me a pig ever since, even though _she_ came onto _me_."

"Why's that?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes still on the board.

"Because I won at Quidditch, I s'pose—oh, you meant—well, everyone's gone mental because Hermione was broken up about it and people are taking her side over mine—even Harry, just because she cried on his shoulder. Cheap tactic, that."

"And why is she upset? It's your turn, by the way."

"I don't know. She thinks Lavender's an idiot."

I pored over the game board carefully, considering routes of attack. The whole point of talking to Dumbledore was to seek a scrap of his infinite wisdom, but at this point I found myself ignoring the conversation in favor of the game itself. I launched a three-pronged attack on Dumbledore's outlying villages, which were all equipped with strong, entrenched defenders. I saw his eyes widen in surprise for the second time in the match and couldn't help but grin.

"Are you sure that's it?" said Dumbledore distractedly.

"Er—yeah, s'far as I know," I mumbled, unsure.

Dumbledore held off my attack on his allies with relative ease, but with his military preoccupied I positioned my slow-moving catapults, battering rams, and trebuchets beyond Dumbledore's borders. The siege of Castle Dumbledore had begun.

"So, um, what d'you reckon I should do?" I asked.

"Cease this mindless violence," he replied.

"I meant about Hermione!"

Dumbledore's last building for peaceful victory began construction. He used a portion of his army, cut-off from his capitol, to issue a surprise attack on Last Dreg Farm. I was forced to liquidate much of my military due to lost resources, and I ceased my attacks on his allied villages and concentrated all efforts on taking Dumbledore's castle.

"I think you might benefit from having a discussion with Miss Granger," said Dumbledore.

"She won't talk to me, and, even if she did, she never makes any sense."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect any of it to make much sense. These issues tend not to. When love begins to make sense, it ceases being love."

"Hang on! Who said anything about love? What's that got to do with it?"

"Plenty, by my estimation. Love influences everything. Everything, that is, except for Lord Voldemort."

_AGH! _Why'd he have to use the name?

Dumbledore's production had been split between peaceful pursuits and military spending. The siege was slowing him down. Meanwhile, he was defending Last Dreg from any attempts I made to retake the farmland.

"Professor, how can we hope to defeat—_him_—if he doesn't have anything he loves? Because that makes it sound like he's got nothing to lose."

The end was imminent. Dumbledore's eastern flank fell and my warriors infiltrated his castle walls. He rushed to defend, and his western side was taken as well.

"We kill him," he said simply. "There are plenty of _thing_s that Lord Voldemort loves—power, domination, success—but he shares no manner of love with another. Peace and love are our two greatest weapons, Ron. Love is the reason to fight, and, if one finds a reason, one will find a way."

"But how does that help me?" I asked.

"In ways too numerous to list," he replied.

I was getting impatient.

"But what do I do about Hermione?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what to tell you that you don't already know and that you don't want to hear."

"Well tell me _something!_" I raised my hands in frustration. "Er—sir," I added.

"All right, I will. Ron, my utopia is finished. I've won the game by means of peace."

"What!" I jumped to my feet and looked at the game board. "Oh come on! A bunch of statues next to a pile of rubble that used to be your castle!"

Dumbledore looked quite amused. "I did not make the rules," he said.

"For all I know, you did. This makes no sense. I should get to take your utopia and add it to my kingdom."

"I like to think that, upon feeling the strength of my culture, your citizens decided to end your tyrannical reign and mount your head atop one of the many pikes carried by your soldiers," Dumbledore said with a serene smile.

"How could you let him take that farm, boy?" jeered one of the portraits high on the walls. "That's what did it, that is!"

"So close!" shouted another in disappointment.

So that's it. After all I had done, I ended up with nothing. My attempts at running an empire just led to everyone hating me, just like my attempts at dealing with birds. I made my leave with my head hanging in defeat.

"I do believe that in the case of Hermione Granger, you have unmatched resources," Dumbledore said as I reached the door, "and it's only a matter of time before you'll find the right moment."

That's the end. That's the story of my battle with Dumbledore. I learned a few things, most notably that Slughorn keeps a cache of cinnamon treats in the staffroom, but in the end I just learned to accept the things I already knew. After leaving Dumbledore's office I knew that he believed in me, and it was up to me to grasp the nettle. I'd break up with Lavender tomorrow—or next week. Shit, that's going to be a nightmare.

Hey, why not do it on my birthday? That's generally the only day I even come close to getting what I want. Nobody can be mad at the birthday boy. That's settled, then.


End file.
